


Who'll Take On Your Odds

by salvage



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, James Bond is a cunnilingus master, Moneypenny is a BAMF, Porn, just porn, seriously he can't have slept with all those women and not be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvage/pseuds/salvage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately post-shaving scene porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who'll Take On Your Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to [Avalon Auggie](http://avalonauggie.tumblr.com/) for being the best porn enabler I could ask for, for hand-holding, and for beta reading. Title from Dessa's song "Palace."

Eve towels shaving cream off his face more gently than she thinks he’s used to, judging by the way he’s watching her. She’s not sure what he expected of her. She folds the towel without looking away from him; his eyes are absurdly blue, brows almost imperceptibly drawing together as he watches her. When she puts it on the table next to the razor, she lets her eyes rake slowly across his chest, from the towel at his hips to the twisted circular scar below his right shoulder. He’s breathing evenly as he reaches forward to unbutton her blouse again.

“I should think that’s rather an old trick, for you,” she says, but she lets him do it.

“Yes, well, there’s always something new to learn.” He slips his hands into her shirt without untucking it, callused fingertips sliding across her ribcage, palms trailing swathes of heat around to her back. He pulls her closer, edges a little forward in his chair, and kisses her. He smells of shaving cream; his face, of course, is smooth against her nose, her chin. She slides a hand around the back of his neck and he lets her use it to tilt his head a little to the side. The other hand she can’t help but caress his chest with, fingertips tracing raised scars, palm flat against muscle. He presses slightly into her touch.

Bond kisses her gently, following her lead. He unhooks her bra but doesn’t try to remove her shirt any further, just slides his hands around her body to cup her breasts. He circles a thumb around one of her nipples and she breathes a little heavier, opening her lips against his. He flicks his tongue against hers.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, and kisses down his neck. His skin is smooth and clean. There is a long scar on the top of his right shoulder and she licks it lightly, feels him arch toward her. She trails her mouth down, stopping again at the bullethole scar, tracing its limits with her tongue. Bond’s fingers twitch against her ribs. His chest is wide and she takes her time kissing across his pecs. She curls her tongue in the dip at the bottom of his sternum, unfolds it across the tensed muscles of his stomach. When she leans back and glances up at him he’s watching her, lips parted.

She untucks her shirt and Bond pulls it down her arms so it flutters to the floor, takes off the unhooked bra that hangs loosely against her chest. He kisses her again, deeply, slides his hands up her bare arms, across her shoulders, down her back, around her sides to her breasts. His calluses drag pleasantly against her skin.

Eve’s hand barely wraps around half of his bicep; she presses her fingertips into the hard muscle and he flexes obligingly under her grasp. She doesn’t want this to turn her on as much as it does, his incredible raw strength, how delicately he places a hand on the underside of her jaw to tilt her head slightly to the side as they kiss.

“Perhaps a relocation is in order?” Bond suggests against her lips. Her knees are beginning to ache from kneeling for so long. She smiles and takes in a breath, but before she can actually answer he picks her up in a princess carry as he stands. It seems effortless, and she knows it’s calculated, one of the many moves that gives him the reputation he has. She tries not to laugh too hard; she doesn’t want to ruin the mood, but who actually does stuff like this? She runs a hand over his chest as he walks down the hallway, traces up his neck as he steps sideways through the doorway to the bedroom. He puts her gently on the bed and she rolls off and stands in one smooth motion. He raises an eyebrow at her and she just lets the corner of her lip raise in a smirk. She unbuckles her belt, tosses it to the floor, unzips her skirt and wiggles out of it.

“Your turn,” she murmurs, glancing pointedly at the towel still wrapped around his waist. He actually laughs and steps toward her, kissing her, running his warm hands down her back, hooking a few fingers in her underwear but not actually removing it. She takes the opportunity to loosen the towel. She backs toward the bed and sits down, leans back to look at him, and when he leans forward to cover her body with his the towel slips to the floor.

He’s warm on top of her and when she takes a breath her sternum touches his, her breasts sloping to the sides. He kisses her neck, openmouthed, and she expects teeth but does not feel a bite. Her hands skate up his arms. He moves down her body, kissing her collarbone, pushing her breasts up to suck at her nipples, scraping his teeth lightly over them until she tips her head back and arches her body up toward him.

She’s wet by the time Bond pushes her underwear to the side enough to press a finger into her. He curls it, just a little, and she gasps softly. He hums a little, kisses her stomach, the faint jut of her hipbone, then pulls her underwear off completely. She places her feet on either side of him and he just looks at her for a moment, raking his eyes across her body. She props herself up on her elbows. “Well?” she says.

Bond smiles at her, almost predatory. He slides his hands up her thighs and bends down. At the first touch of his tongue to her clitoris she fists her hands in the bedsheets. He’s as focused and relentless bringing her to orgasm as he is doing everything else, holding her hips in place as she twitches and arches beneath him, licking her clitoris, now curling his tongue into her until her breaths are uneven and she’s making little keening noises. She grabs at one of his hands, fingers tight around his wrist, ostensibly to keep from rocking away from him, though he’s strong enough that he can hold her in place with one arm across her hips. She comes, body twisting up, toes curling against his side, and he works her through it, keeps licking her until she comes again, this time with a moan almost torn out of her throat. She glances down her body at him and he looks up at her, blond eyebrows, pale eyelashes, icy blue eyes, and he untangles their hands and presses two fingers into her, almost too fast and rough, and her whole body is shaking, hands clawing at the bedsheets, as he twists his fingers inside her and she comes again.

“Oh my god,” she says, voice strained, mouth dry, and places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “A moment, please.” He lifts his head enough that she can see his satisfied smirk.

“I’m sorry, was that too much?” Bond unfolds himself and lies next to her, obviously not sorry, running the back of one wrist across his mouth. She’s still coming down, limbs heavy, unwilling to move. He runs a warm, rough hand slowly up her body. He’s hard but doesn’t seem rushed to do anything about it.

“Just enough, I believe,” Eve replies, still a little breathless, smiling mostly because she can’t stop herself from doing so. He kisses her slowly; she can taste herself on his lips, licks into his mouth deeper. She lets him kiss her for another few minutes, still feeling the drag of his hand casually caressing her body, eyes slitted open enough to see that his are closed. Finally she pulls away, sits up smoothly. “Now, I believe we have a casino to get to.” She glances down his body, not bothering to hide her appraisal, smirking slightly. “Do try to appear decent.” She grabs her underwear from off the bed as she stands, not bothering to put it on as she bends down to pick up her skirt and belt. “Ta.” She leaves the room with her clothes in hand, Bond still lying on the bed, staring at her with well-disguised confusion written all over his face.

Eve only lets herself laugh when she’s dressed herself enough to walk down the hall to her own room and closed the door behind her. She does see where he gets his reputation, and she can imagine, if she were a different type of woman, succumbing to his… _charms._ She presses a finger to her earpiece. “Q? Did you get all that?”

“Yes,” Q’s voice comes through, obviously trying not to sound dejected. She supposes she would be, too, if she were out that amount of money. She is almost sorry, but betting against her ability to walk away was his own fault. “I’ll have the money for you when you get back. Try to keep him out of trouble,” he adds.

“I’m sure there are therapists who can help you get over your fear of flying,” Eve says to Q, almost absently, as she puts in earrings. “I’d highly recommend it.”


End file.
